Better Left Untold
by lucelafonde
Summary: Based on the assumption that Varric is an unreliable narrator. What really happened in Kirkwall? Hawke and Varric catch up in Skyhold, and the champion is /very/ interested to hear what Varric has been telling people about their time together. The truth? Anything but that. [Hawke/Varric] Spoilers for Inquisition


Varric Tethras was a simple man— except he was neither man nor simple. What had Cassandra called him? A conniving little shit? Yeah. Fitting.

At the end of the day, Varric was many things, but above all else he was loyal. Yes, he was a tale spinner, yes he enjoyed a good untruth for exaggerated effect—which good storyteller wouldn't?—but none of what he'd told the Inquisition had been an outright lie, had it?

Well, yes. Yes, it had. He'd feel sorry about that if he wasn't so busy rubbing at the spots where Cassandra had managed to tear some of his chest hair out when she'd manhandled him. Rough woman that. Picking on someone half her size— what a bully.

He was still grunting and rubbing when he instinctively stiffened, catching a whiff of something that was distinctly not Skyhold. He'd recognise that smell anywhere.

"Who passed out on your doorstep?" she asked, tone deliberately light as her eyes told him she was giving him a shot at telling her the truth in his own roundabout way before she put her serious face on and made it all touchy-feely.

He aimed for casual, leaning against the stone column of the furnace beside him, and crossed his arms in front of his chest when he said, "The usual. Lively ladies who can't seem to get enough of me. Honestly, I can barely fend them off. Do you think maybe I should reconsider my wardrobe?"

He looked down on himself to seemingly inspect his exposed chest, but in truth, he just wanted to avoid Hawke's intent gaze. She'd always seen through him too easily.

"Can I just protect your honour instead?" she asked, taking a step towards him but keeping a respectable distance still. "If it's one or the other, I'd prefer that one."

"Now now, Hawke. Not in front of Bianca," he scolded her, pointedly throwing his crossbow standing a few feet from them a look. It wasn't about Bianca, of course. She'd seen far worse— which he was still sorry for, he'd thought he'd put her somewhere else at the time.

It wasn't about Bianca, but Hawke got him anyway; she always did.

"I wouldn't dare," she assured him, quick eyes scanning the room for anyone paying attention to them. When she came up blank, her lips twitched slightly and she said, "You know what? I've been here for hours and no one's shown me anything yet. Does this place have a tavern? Alternatively, a couple of recruits to shove around will do."

He tried not to smile, intent on being bitter and resentful at the world, but how could he not? She was standing there just like old times, and dammit if he was going to let the opportunity go to waste.

"I know just the thing."

He took her to the battlements with a bottle of his finest brandy in hand, tellingly leaving Bianca behind for this particular trip, and showed her his favourite hiding spot with a secretive smile on his face. He'd found it shortly after settling in. It was part of the battlements, but the walls around it had crumbled, so no one came here anymore. Getting up was a bit tricky, and it involved quite a lot of climbing—something he was keenly aware of when Hawke teased him for taking so long with his short legs before giving him a gentle push that sent him meeting the top face-first—but it was worth the peace and quiet it promised. After all, being difficult to reach was exactly what he'd been looking for for this particular talk, hadn't it?

"Nice view," Hawke said appreciatively, and he spread his arms, gesturing at the mountains all around them.

"Not exactly the place I'd have chosen, but I suppose it will do."

"Who said I was talking about the Keep?"

Who indeed?

He looked at her through hooded eyes, waiting a beat before he said, "Who said I was?"

She held his gaze for a moment, two, and just when he thought she was going to stay like that forever, she laughed, actually laughed, and wouldn't look at him for a while.

It was odd seeing her like this. He hadn't seen anything of her in months, and now she was here, right there with him, and she was laughing exactly like she used to. It wasn't right, he thought. Things changed. Everything changed. Heck, the world was ending, the place was practically falling apart, and Hawke— Hawke did what she'd always done: the impossible. Remaining exactly the same despite everything else.

How _did_ she do it? What happened in Kirkwall had changed all of them. Rivaini actually settled down with them, choosing to tackle her problems head-on instead of running away; ancestors, Broody even ended up siding with mages— who ever thought the day would come? And Blondie…

Blondie did what Blondies do in this fucked up new world of theirs, he supposed. One thing was for certain anyway: he'd changed. Whatever that thing towards the end was, that wasn't the friend he'd once known, so yes, Blondie had changed too.

All of them had. Every single one of them. And here she was, standing at the banister and still exactly the same Hawke he'd known for years. The girl who'd joked about darkspawn being preferable to poverty was still joking— about what he wasn't sure, but she saw the fun in it, whatever it was, and that was all that really mattered, wasn't it?

He'd missed that. Someone to remind him to laugh every once in a while. When had he forgotten how to do that?

"Varric?"

"Mhmm?"

She was looking at him, hands spread wide along the stone she was leaning against, and said, "Would you mind stepping on that rock there for a second?"

"That what?" He followed her line of sight, eyes coming to rest on a bigger piece of the rubble surrounding them, and his brows shot up at the request. "Have you finally lost your mind, Hawke? Or are you plotting to kill me now? You know what, I'm almost wounded. To think that I'd survive Sister Hardass only to fall victim to you—"

"Varric."

"Yes, Hawke?"

"Shut up and climb that rock."

He wanted to protest, but really, denying Hawke anything had never been his strong suit, and anyway, he doubted she was actually plotting to kill him in what would look like a freak accident. If his time with the woman had taught him anything, it was that Hawke generally preferred the more… direct approach to solving problems. Meaning if she was going to kill him, everyone would know it was her.

Not that she would, of course. He reminded himself of that when he did as she'd told him and jumped on the piece of rubble. Yes, jumped. No climbing here. He might have been small, but he was also surprisingly light on his feet; something he took no small pleasure reminding her of as she watched him mount the rock with ease.

"Is that what the world looks like to you freakishly tall people?" he asked, glancing over the edge of the stone walls surrounding them with no small sense of dread. "I think I prefer the closer to earth version of things."

She chuckled lowly, finally pushing off the wall behind her, and approached him with long but slow steps. He watched her, swallowing heavily, and held her gaze as she came closer.

Oh, he thought. Cunning as always, wasn't she?

He was briefly filled with a sense of second-hand pride, a sensation not uncommon when he told the story of Hawke and basically everything she'd ever done, but it faded quickly to be replaced by something stronger, something viciously clawing at his insides when she finally stopped in front of him with an edge to her smile.

"I've been meaning to do this all day," she said, and he was going to be witty and charming of course, blow her completely away with naught but his words, but she was quicker, pressing a hand against his exposed chest and her lips against his before he got a word in edgewise.

Ah well, he thought. It wasn't that important anyway. His tongue could do other things besides talk to blow her away with.

It had been ages, really, longer than that, and a part of him had been scared maybe, terrified possibly, at the prospect of things changing without his consent or influence. He'd wondered, he admitted to himself and only to himself, if this would change too. If they would ever meet again and if they did— if she was still alive then, through one of those miracles she seemed blessed with, if she'd even still care.

He had his answer to that, didn't he?

Miracles did always seem to follow her around after all. Just waiting patiently to happen.

He wouldn't complain.

"You know, you two are incredibly alike," he mused later, when they were dressed again and finally drinking that bottle he'd saved up just for this occasion.

"Who two?"

"You two," he repeated, handing her the brandy so his right hand had time and space to join his left on her waist, tracing patterns on the cloth as he tried to memorise the feeling of her flesh beneath it. "The Inquisitor. A whole shitload of luck you two have."

"The bad kind?" she asked and there was a smile in her eyes as she raised her brows at him before taking a sip of the bottle. He laughed.

"That too. You know, if you put it like this, it seems pretty fair. As if fate's saying 'I know it sucks that you got attacked by that high dragon, but hey, at least you only cracked a few ribs and wished someone had taken your head off during the fight because the pain is unbearable— you didn't _actually_ die! We're all winners here, right?'"

"To be fair, we did almost die," she reminded him and he snorted, rubbing his neck in remembrance of the pain with a grimace.

"No shit."

"It could have been worse," she mused, snaking her arm around his shoulders as she pulled him closer, replacing his hand on his neck with her own. "It could have been like it was in your stories. Five times the size and spitting fire!"

"It did spit fire, Hawke."

"Yeah, I was hoping I'd imagined that."

They shared a look, thinking back on what had happened. Not their greatest hour as mortal beings that had been seconds away from getting swallowed, but it made for a hell of a story. All in all, a good thing to live to tell the tale of. He didn't care to repeat it, regardless.

He groaned.

"With my luck, the new kid will actually meet the dragon in my stories."

"Well, then it's a good thing she's got an expert with her, isn't it?" Hawke joked, and he awarded her with a decidedly unimpressed look.

"If you think anyone who isn't you can make me go that far for a cause, you are—"

"—exactly right," she finished for him. He glared, and she shoved him slightly, handing him the bottle back before sighing and drawing her fingers through his hair.

Damn that woman. She knew he wasn't able to argue when she did that.

"How's it going anyway? You were full of praise for her last time you wrote. And begged me to come and pinch you awake."

"Still waiting for that, by the way," he said and regretted it almost instantly when she did exactly that. "Ow!"

"Damn." She laughed, raising her hand threateningly with a question on her face. "Didn't work. Want me to try again?"

"No, thanks. I'll pass."

"Sure?"

"Reasonably."

She shrugged, dropping her arm to wrap it around him again. "Be my guest. If you change your mind…"

"I know where to find you, yes."

"Mhmm." She hummed, not pursuing the matter further despite clearly wanting to say something. He always knew when she wanted to say something. He just didn't know how to make her say it. "So?"

"So?"

"How's the new Inquisitor?" she prodded. "I gotta say, Varric, I was surprised you didn't jump at the chance to get away from the Chantry when the whole thing collapsed. No pun intended. Well, a little."

"People died, Hawke," he reminded her sternly, as if the corners of his lips weren't twitching treacherously regardless. "Show some respect."

"What's the point of people dying if you can't make jokes about it?"

"What indeed."

They were silent for a moment, and he thought he knew what she was thinking about. The same thing he was thinking about, day in, day out. If they'd done something, if they'd stopped Blondie before he went off the rails—

But no. Too little too late. Game over.

He shook himself, refusing to let this ruin one of the few good things he still had left in this world. There was time to be all dark and broody later; now he had Hawke, and Hawke didn't do dark and broody. Man, he wanted to make a joke about the elf, but he knew he couldn't without it seeming weird, and he didn't want Hawke to get suspicious. Well, anymore than she already was.

The way she looked at him was disconcerting.

"She's fine," he said, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Doing good. She's no Hawke, but I suppose she'll do for the moment."

She shoved him, actually pushing him backwards, but instead of hitting the hard ground with his reasonably soft head, he felt his coat tighten around him and caught her lowering him slowly down as she loomed over him like the intimidating big human she was.

He should probably mind that.

"Liar," she accused him, hands on his lapels with her mouth all too close to his. "You like her, admit it."

"What! You dare sully my pristine reputation with such slander! I am appalled, my lady, that you would say such things in the presence of a proper gentleman."

She looked around, saying, "I don't see any gentlemen here, Ser dwarf."

He was about to chastise her, bluster at her impudence, when she added with an impish smile, "Which is fortunate, because then I'd almost feel bad doing this."

This, of course, was an obscene fondling of his chest that had even him on the verge of blushing, followed by a nose brushing against the stubble on his cheek. Shit, was she actually—?

"Maker's breath, Hawke," he forced out when her hands travelled lower, squeezing something in his insides as she did. "I thought we were having a moment."

"Oh, we were," she assure him. "I'm… _extending_ the moment."

"Ext— oh."

He did blush now, to the roots of his hair, and he was infinitely grateful her mouth was busy nibbling his Adam's apple and she wasn't seeing any of that all of a sudden.

"You haven't changed a bit, have you?" he asked, drawing thick fingers through her hair as she snuggled against him.

"I changed my name," she reminded him, interlinking the fingers of his hand not busy adoring her hair with her own long and thin ones. "That's enough for the moment, isn't it? Wouldn't want to appear too unrecognisable from your stories. Bad for publicity and such."

"My reputation could handle it."

"Is that the same pristine one you were talking about earlier? Because if so, I have news for you, Varric," she teased.

"Break it to me gently."

She laughed, and he liked the way it felt against his chest. Like his heart was beating properly for the first time in months.

"Don't worry," she murmured, pressing a kiss to his exposed skin, "I'll make sure people believe all the bullshit you feed them. What was it? Ten giant ogres and little old me with a staff and a few sharp rocks to keep me company?"

"Now, Hawke, no one would believe such an outrageous lie," he scolded her, allowing himself a moment to draw in a breath filled with the scent of her hair. "At least twenty ogres and a high dragon. No staff."

"I'm keeping the rocks though?"

"You'll have to kill them with _something_."

"And all that before breakfast," she sighed, hugging him close. It hadn't been twenty or even ten ogres, of course, but they'd seen their fair share of those spread out over the years, and even the dragon thing wasn't a total lie.

Shit, how had they survived this long anyway? Sometimes his stories seemed ridiculous even to him. Maybe that was why he tended to make them a little more colourful; lacing them with small lies made it easier to remove himself from the horrors he'd seen.

He was a terribly unreliable narrator. The fact that Cassandra had believed any of his bullshit still surprised him.

Didn't know where Hawke was? That one took the cake. As if he'd ever allow his best friend to disappear from his radar.

He made a mental note to tease her about that later, once she'd calmed down enough for him to survive that encounter. Maybe throw in a dig at her 'seeker' title, he thought. Yes, that would work. Some seeker she was. He thought he'd been painfully obvious about it, but either he was better at hiding his deepest secrets than he'd thought or Lady Hardass was just really bad at her job.

A little bit of both probably.

"How long will you stay?" he asked eventually, dreading the answer. Now that the secret was out and the Inquisition had found her, there was no real reason to disappear anymore, he knew. He also knew that Hawke needed to be where the action was, her own action, and for whatever stupid reason, he knew he couldn't leave this thing behind. Wherever she was going to go, he couldn't follow.

He didn't like thinking about that.

"We need to find out what happened to the Wardens," she said slowly, as if sensing his dread. Maybe she felt the same way. He liked to think so. "Once we talked to Stroud, things will be clearer. I hope."

"Are they ever?"

"No. But I'm counting on something big and terrible happening that will require my immediate attention," she confessed.

"Planning ahead?" He chuckled.

"I like to be prepared. Spares me the trouble of having to come up with the right curses on the spot. I can't worry about that _and_ the high dragon staring me down at the same time."

"Smart woman."

She smiled, lifting her head to look at him. "I learnt from the best. Remember when you talked about what to do to Bartrand once you found him?"

He huffed. "Don't remind me. Never got to do any of those things in the end."

"No," she mused. "But at least you were prepared."

"At least I was that."

A part of him would have preferred doing any of those things to his brother because he was a bastard who deserved it instead of what they'd actually ended up doing. It was so much easier hating someone than it was watching them cling to the tiniest piece of their sanity as they withered away.

"Should I be concerned, by the way?" she asked out of the blue, as if sensing the direction his thoughts were taking.

"You'll have to be more specific than that, Hawke," he said. "There's a giant hole in the sky, demons are crawling all over the place, people disappear in all the corners of the world, that blasted red lirium is popping up everywhere, and I hear someone managed to actually make it all worse by tearing apart time itself which led to a freak vision of all the shit yet to happen." He paused for breath. "Should you be concerned? Now's as good a time as any."

She gave the matter some thought, nodding eventually. "I'll consider that. But I meant about the Inquisitor."

"Remember all the things going to shit?" he asked. "She's doing something about it. Not sure how much use it will be, but at least it's better than standing around waiting for the world to end."

"Exactly my point. Should I be worried about you replacing me? If I have to go looking for a new dwarf to spin extravagant lies about me, I'd like to know in advance. Give me a headstart so I can have some interviews before I fill the position."

His eyebrows rose, and he was briefly surprised that she… well. Still managed to surprise him. Of all the things to be worried about, _that_ was what she focused on?

"I'm sorry to say that none of those amateurs could do you or your damn luck justice."

"So I'm stuck with you?"

"Seems like it."

"Damn."

"You'll get used to it. Besides, you'd miss my chest hair, admit it," he teased, watching her appraise said part of his body with careful deliberation.

"Mhmmm… Possibly. Don't all dwarves have that though?" she asked. "I thought that was part of the package."

He huffed. "Milady, you wound me! 'All dwarves'? The nerve! I'm a unique item, I'll have you know. No cheap knock-offs from this prince."

"So dwarves aren't hairy all over?"

"I didn't say that."

"So other dwarves _do_ have chest hair?"

"None as impressive as mine, I assure you."

She laughed, and his lips twitched slightly at the sound.

"Fair enough. I'll have to make do with the dwarf I have then. No problem. I can think of a use or two for this model."

"Such as?"

She smirked, and her hands wandered across his body without looking, hitting all the right spots with practised ease.

"I shouldn't be doing this," she mused while continuing to do it. "Isabela would be cross if she knew of my unfaithful heart."

"Isa— ah."

He swallowed, averting his eyes when she looked at him too knowingly. So she'd heard about that.

"I do wonder what else you told them," she said, a sly smile playing around her lips. "Ogres and dragons not withstanding."

"Everything," he admitted. It had been hard not to; he'd always loved an audience.

"Everything?"

"Well," he said, squirming beneath her intent gaze. "I skipped the part about us. Didn't seem right among all the ogres and dragons. Kind of an anticlimax, don't you think?"

"Anticlimax?" she asked, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. "And me dashing off with Isabela to conquer the sea wasn't?"

"Who told you that anyway?"

"Your new Hawke," she shrugged. "The Inquisitor. She was _very_ curious to hear what had happened to my good friend Isabela, and if she was alright with me being here."

"Ah."

"That was also my reaction, yes."

"Listen, Hawke—"

"I understand trying to keep the focus on all the ogres and dragons, Maker knows I listened to enough of your grand stories to appreciate the action, but… Isabela? Really?" She huffed, frowning as she shook her head. "Couldn't it at least have been Knight Commander Meredith or something? To add to the excitement of the story, of course."

"Too unbelievable," Varric waved off. "She would have beaten you to death with that stick up her ass before you'd given her so much as flowers, let alone a kiss."

"Still."

"I don't see what the problem is," he said. "You did sleep with her after all. I was just… expanding on the story."

"Which still leaves the issue of the anticlimax," she pointed out.

"It was a good ending! Fleeing Kirkwall in shambles with the woman of your heart, conquering the sea together far away from any of this bullshit."

"Reality not exciting enough for you?"

"Too much excitement kills a story."

She hummed, pushing off him to sit on her own, leaned against the stone surrounding them. She was angry, he knew. He'd known her long enough to recognise the signs, subtle as they were.

"I'm curious," she said eventually, watching him sit up himself with a dark look in her eyes. "Why do you consider yourself an anticlimax?"

"Hawke…"

"Maybe I'm lacking some kind of special storyteller knowledge, but in my _most humble_ opinion, the story was plenty exciting as it was without 'expanding' on it."

"That's why you beat up the ogres and dragons and I talk about it," he said, and he could have sworn she almost smiled at that. Almost.

"Really, Varric," she said softly, causing him to avert his eyes.

Uh-oh. They were going to have a Talk, weren't they?

"A dashing young dwarven prince with a knack for wild stories who happens to be pretty decent with a crossbow—which he's just a little bit too attached to—swoops a poverty stricken apostate noble from her feet while she's busy fighting all those ogres and dragons he can fill his stories with. What's so anticlimatic about that?"

"All the bits except the ogres and dragons, those can stay."

Oh, she was glaring now, that was never good. Truth time? How anticlimatic.

"The truth is boring," he said eventually. "No one's interested in the truth. People want to hear impossible stories about heroes who get the love interest they deserve. Nobody wants to hear 'and she for some reason settled on the lying dwarf when she could have had absolutely anyone else.' I'd be out of business if I ended my stories that way."

"'Settled'?" she asked, voice incredulous. "I'm sorry, were you there? Which part of that exactly was 'settling' on anything? I won your heart fair and square, and you didn't make it easy. Give your hero some credit, would you? People would be much more impressed by all that fighting I went through if they knew how busy I was trying to tease you into opening something other than your dress shirt while I bashed an ogre's head in."

"That _was_ impressive."

"Thank you."

He sighed. "I don't know what to tell you, Hawke. It was the better story."

"No, it wasn't."

"You do know who you're arguing with here, yes?" he asked. "I'll have you know I have a bit of a reputation related to storytelling."

She watched him quietly for a moment, looking like she was about to throw something at his head, but eventually she just sighed and got up, patting down her trousers before she turned to leave.

"Never been much of a story person myself," she mumbled. "I'm more of a hands-on kind of woman." She threw him a look over his shoulder, making his insides squeeze uncomfortably. "The truth was enough for me, Varric. If I'd wanted anything else, as you so rightly pointed out, I could have got it. Stories are all fine and well every now and then, but I don't want people to remember me this way."

"Like you could take on twenty ogres with a couple of rocks?" he joked, tensing as she turned away.

"Like I was ashamed of the person I loved and hid the truth behind wild stories."

He wanted to stop her, say something, anything to keep her there, but by the time the words had sunk in, she'd gone, leaving him to stare at the blank spot she'd stood on before.

He wasn't ashamed of her, he'd wanted to say. He was ashamed on her behalf of him. After all, what good was he anyway? A compulsive lying cheat, incapable of handling his own affairs without cowering behind his bigger and more intimidating friends. Regret after regret piled up to crush him while he pretended he enjoyed the weight.

She'd always seen right through him.

He wanted to go after her and tell her she was wrong, but honestly, what was the point? If that was what would make her leave, pursue those better fitted for her… Who was he to stop her?

Perhaps his story hadn't been the truth, but it was how it should have gone. He'd spun a web of lies that formed a world he'd like to live in.

Yeah right.

As if he could ever just let her go.

"Hawke!"

She stopped, not turning to see him run after her, slightly out of breath and cursing his short legs right about now.

He waited for her to react somehow, say something, but she wouldn't, and he realised that it was up to him to placate her.

He swallowed.

"Lady Tethras."

She stiffened, but a second later she turned towards him, a smile spreading on her lips as she said, "Yes, Lord Tethras?"

He took a step towards her, strengthened in his resolve at the look on her face.

"Cassandra could probably use a good scare," he said slowly. "Loosen her up a little. She already knows I'm a filthy liar, but I'd wager there's one thing left she didn't see coming."

Hawke smiled, hands crossing behind her back as she leaned down to his eye-level, a mischievous expression on her face. "Oh? And what may that be, Ser dwarf? Do tell."

"I'd rather _show_ you, if it's all the same to you."


End file.
